


A Place Called Home

by Lassarina



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24617077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: Natasha has never attended Thanksgiving dinner as only herself.  She's never had a family before.  She doesn't really know how to do this--but it's important to the team, so, here she is.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Natasha Bingo





	A Place Called Home

Natasha has researched the concept of Thanksgiving. She has researched major and minor holidays for any significant culture in which she might find herself; upon such details does a good cover hinge. She understands both the sanitized cultural explanations that America spins to feel good about this gluttonous celebration of a false origin myth and the more likely actual explanations; she rolls her eyes at the "division" of labor that puts women in charge of creating a massive feast while men bond in an aggressive display of screaming at the sports teams that stand in for professional armies in modern times. She knows what is expected of her depending on what her cover might be. She has attended celebrations before, in a half dozen guises, under various names and in various roles. She knows how to cook a spread suitable for three different regions, depending on her cover, though that was required only once.

What she does not know is how to be Natalia Romanova when Tony Stark is hosting Thanksgiving at Avengers Tower, because Tony Stark is constitutionally incapable of refusing Captain America when Steve Rogers turns those baby blues on him in wounded outrage that the Avengers will not have Thanksgiving _together_ as a _team._ Everyone sees the shield, sees Steve as a defender of freedom, but that is because Steve actively chooses not to _be_ a weapon, and Natasha knows it. (Whether Steve knows it is another question; she thinks he does but chooses not to, as Steve chooses not to know a great many things, like the location of the scotch bottle in Fury's lower left desk drawer, behind neat hanging folders full of files that Fury himself has not touched in at least a decade.)

Pepper assured her that no one is required to bring their own dish, with the delicate implication that Pepper is not sure what much of the team would consider acceptable to bring to a potluck. It's not as if her personal contribution to the meal is required in a monetary sense, but she knows that, regardless of whether the host requires the contribution, family members bring something to share at Thanksgiving because it shows their connection to each other.

Natasha has no blood family that she can name. Yet for all that the Avengers can be awkward, angry, and disagreeable, they are her family now. Steve may have demanded that "the team" have Thanksgiving together, but she knows he meant his family. They have all, in one way or another, been cut loose from their origins, some more harshly than others.

So Natasha does what any self-respecting American adult with an awkward and sometimes vehemently disagreeable family would do, and brings alcohol to Thanksgiving dinner. She finds a recipe online for a mulled cider with brandy and rum; the test runs were successful, so she feels confident her offering will not go amiss. Still, the elevator ride up to the penthouse is strange, for all that she's taken it dozens of times.

The scents that greet her when she enters make her mouth water. Natasha has eaten food around the world, from the finest European restaurants to the crudest street carts in back alleys a rat would give wide berth, but whatever is happening in Tony Stark's kitchen smells amazing. The noise hits her like a wave a moment later: the giant television is blaring an American football game, half the team is arguing about it, and Thor and Barton are enthusiastically debating the merits of different types of arrows.

It is a completely different world from every Thanksgiving she's spent in America before, even those when she was undercover. For one thing, everyone is here by choice.

"Of course the Giants are terrible," Pepper is saying, "they won't invest in an O-line and a quarterback can't--Natasha! Welcome!" She turns, smiling, a glass of wine in hand, and her gaze zeroes in on the two large jugs, wrapped in cloth to insulate them, in Natasha's hands.

"I brought mulled cider," Natasha says.

Pepper's smile reaches her eyes, so Natasha hasn't committed a grievous faux pas. "We can put it over here." She leaves Tony, Steve, and Bruce to their arguments over the state of the Giants' defense and meets Natasha halfway between the door and the open-concept kitchen. "Happy Thanksgiving," she says warmly.

"Happy Thanksgiving." The words are strange on Natasha's tongue, even if her accent is indistinguishable from a native speaker's. "I know you said not to bring anything."

"But you researched it and the Internet says to bring a hostess gift," Pepper finishes, her gaze keen.

Natasha is not at all comfortable with the degree to which this team--and Pepper is absolutely part of the team--knows her, _sees_ her, but there is no escaping that gaze. "Yes."

"Cider is a lovely gift," Pepper says, "and everyone brought something." She bends to open a cabinet and pulls out a slow cooker. As she sets it on the counter, she speaks again. "You won't stand out."

Natasha controls her reaction. "Do you practice that?"

Pepper laughs and plugs the slow cooker in. "It's a necessary skill for negotiation." She turns, her smile in place. "We can pour the cider in here and keep it hot, and then it'll be ready to serve."

Natasha is certain of two things. The first is that she is very glad Pepper is on their side. The second is that Tony Stark, genius though he may be, vastly underestimates her, and Natasha had better not.

Natasha pours the cider in and sets the slow cooker to heat while Pepper checks on something in the oven and tosses a massive salad. On the other side of the penthouse, crystal and china gleam on a huge dining table. Natasha thinks of the story Jane told of Thor smashing his coffee cup to demand another, and hides the smile it evokes. She isn't sure if she hopes he does the same to Tony's fancy china or not. Or is it Pepper's?

Pepper offers her a glass of wine and Natasha takes it. As they turn toward the game, a timer chimes, and Pepper laughs. "Right on time," she says. She dons an apron that hangs on a hook and grabs oven mitts off the counter, and starts pulling things out of the massive double ovens, a stream of dishes that's astonishing in its variety. Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, yams, rolls, stuffing, three kinds of green vegetables, baked apples, and gravy appear. At the first sound of dishes clattering, Steve abandons the football discussion and bounds over to lend his assistance, cheerfully transferring food from the baking dishes to serving dishes and handing them to Bruce to carry to the table. Tony is pouring wine. Pepper calls Clint over to carve the turkey while she deals with the ham; Natasha she sends to the refrigerator to fetch dishes of dark-red cranberry sauce and other condiments. When Natasha reaches the table, she's surprised to see borscht and dark Russian bread also there. Tony arrives with two plates of pierogies--one piled amid sausages, and one that she'd guess is filled with cheese and potatoes. She has to turn away for a moment to keep control of her expression. The fact that Pepper took the time and effort to research what would be on a Russian holiday table--and provide it--shouldn't hit as hard as it does.

Bruce brings the last dish, a wobbling creamy pink gelatin concoction that he looks alarmingly proud of, and sets it on the table. Every inch of the table is loaded down with food, and even with their group, Natasha cannot imagine how they can possibly make a dent in this feast.

"JARVIS, please turn off the game," Pepper says. "It's dinner time."

"Of course," JARVIS replies, and the television falls silent. Pepper gestures, and they all take their seats, wherever they like. Natasha ends up between Steve and Bruce, which at least means she can kick Clint under the table if he misbehaves.

Pepper looks to Steve. "Do you want to say grace?" she asks gently.

Steve looks around the table, smiles, and shakes his head. "If we could just have a moment of quiet?"

They take the moment as he's asked, and he bows his head. Natasha doesn't pray, generally doesn't enter a church unless her cover requires it or it's useful to her current needs, but there's something to this shared moment, a kind of peace.

When Steve lifts his head and smiles again, the noise erupts as it always does. The food is delicious, the arguments familiar, but there's more to it, somehow: it feels like something she's never known, but she thinks it might be called _home._

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Natasha Bingo, for the prompt "found family."


End file.
